My Life In Another Dimension
by Soxman
Summary: "To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." Dumbledore would never know just how true his words were. In Harry Potter's case. And now Harry's in a world that seemingly has ripped apart everything he ever knew. Is there a way home?
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is a redo of _My Life In Another Dimension_. I will keep the original up for a certain period just as a kind of compare and contrast. I personally think this revision is much better, but who knows. So now, I've decided to change the pacing and the plot, but keep the core idea the same. And I have a completely different plan in mind than this just being a poor crack-fic like the original. Hopefully, this will prove much better than the original. Anyway, I don't own Harry Potter, and I hope you all enjoy.

Prologue: Strange Awakenings

"Ugh… Oy… Bleh… Did anyone get the number of the portkey that hit me?" Harry groaned softly. Around him he heard the soft flutter of the wind, the merry chirping of the birds, the calm rustling of the leaves. He groaned and rolled over in his bed; couldn't someone close the window? It was too damn early! He tried to blindly reach for his pillow to shield him from the noise, but he couldn't find it. He must have knocked it off the bed or something; he had always been a restless sleeper. Groaning again, and feeling rather annoyed, Harry slowly turned over once more, feeling the hard, lumpy mattress move beneath him, intent on getting up and closing the damn window and finding his bloody pillow! Once he'd finally completed the turn, it was another whole battle to convince his eyes to work. Finally, twin emerald orbs groggily blinked open to survey the world around him. Except that once his eyes were finally open, he could clearly see that he wasn't in his bedroom, sleeping peacefully after his latest one-night stand- … Selma?... Rhonda?-… Maybe it was Jill?... had departed, leaving the window open in their wake.

"Huh?" Harry muttered dazedly, lying flat on his back and staring up into the mostly cloudy dull-grey sky with only small patches of sun poking through. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the bushes and leaves around him merrily swaying in the wind. He sighed, and finally realized his head was pounding. What in Merlin's Beard had he done last night? Immediately, a series of foggy images came into his head, but… Bugger, he couldn't remember anything! Well, whatever he'd done, it had apparently left him in quite a state. As indicated by the pounding in his head. Groaning, Harry finally managed to sit up. He really wanted to just turn over and sleep, but he could do that once he made it back to his flat. He went to rub his eyes, and that was when all hell broke loose.

It seemed quaint and uninteresting at first; he merely poked himself in the head. It was about as annoying as if a fly was buzzing around his head and he'd missed it. But then he looked at his hand. It was much smaller, and much less wrinkled than it had been. Blinking, Harry wretched himself up and closely stared at his hand. The calluses, blisters, wrinkles, and scars, were gone from it. Automatically, Harry looked at his other hand, and noticed that it was in the same condition. It was even restored; he'd lost part of his pinky finger in a duel a few years ago.

Finally noticing a nearby brook thanks to the persistent rushing sound of the water, Harry slowly rose and staggered over. He angled himself so that the sunlight was good enough- he had no idea what he would have done if there wasn't daylight-, and stared in. It was just as he'd subconsciously expected. The scars, the crow lines, the bags under his eyes; his face was so much younger. It was amazing; he looked so much younger! Harry quickly undid the tattered remnants of his shirt to better examine his chest, which was now free of scars and blemishes. Well apparently… he _was_ much younger.

"Did I drink from the Fountain of Youth last night?" Harry muttered blankly, still staring at his reflection in the water. To be fair, this was par for the course. The last time he, Ron, and the twins had gone drinking, they'd ended up in the custody of the Egyptian Ministry after they were found next to the body of a dead Nundu. Good times, good times. Though they'd never pieced together how they'd killed it. Though Fred Jr. swore he'd bludgeoned it to death with his damned metal pendant. They'd actually spent their day in prison debating, in near amazement, how they'd done it. And Hermione had been pretty pissed at the lot of them-especially seeing as she couldn't figure it out either-, though that had also been helped by the fact that she had to be the one to post their bail. Ginny was also quite agited… well, their divorce hadn't been far off in coming, and that episode hadn't helped. At least she didn't get any of the proceeds from their kill…. Bitch.

Shaking his head, Harry put his tattered shirt- how did it get so many rips and tears?- back on and began grasping into the ruined pockets for his wand. Damn, he'd liked this shirt too! Frowning, Harry withdrew his hands sans wand. Where could it… Harry walked back over to the spot he'd awoken from, easily identifiable because of the black mark on the edges which made it look rather like a chalk outline of a dead body-how morbid he was early in the morning-, and found the tattered remains of his robes. Grasping inside of the remains, which he'd unknowingly used as a makeshift pillow, Harry's hand finally closed around his wand. Feeling relieved, Harry pulled out his faithful Phoenix-feathered wand and held it up to the sunlight to examine it. Seeing that it looked fine, Harry gave it a flick and silently conjured a chair. Another flick of it, and the chair was gone. A final flick at his tattered clothing, and his black dress-shirt and torn grey dress-pants mended themselves so that he no longer looked like he'd lost a fight with a dragon. Well, another fight with a dragon, as it were. He briefly considered trying to mend his robes, but they looked too far gone to even be worth the effort.

He deposited his wand in his pocket- hearing Alastor Moody's voice angrily bark a warning in his head, even after all these years- and reached a hand back inside the remnants of his robes, hoping to find his moneybag. After a few minutes of struggle, he pulled his hand back out with ten golden galleons clasped within- it was all he could find. Shite, looked like a visit to Gringotts was in order; those cagey bastard still hadn't forgiven him for that one time with the dragon. Oh, yeah… and that other time with the whole Goblin King Assassination thing. Well, it couldn't be helped; he would eventually need gold, if only to pay maintenance at the end of the month. Well, now he knew what was on his to-do list for today. But first… -he sat down on the ground and the world finally stopped spinning violently- he needed to figure out what he'd gotten up to that had left him in this state. If only because Hermione was likely to badger him with questions the second he returned to civilization. So… what the bloody hell had happened last night?

Finally giving in to his body's protests and lying back down on the lumpy, grassy earth, Harry began trying to concentrate. What had happened last night? Granted his Occlumency had improved a load since his school days, but Lily kept telling him his memory was going. Maybe she was right; after a few minutes of thought, a few shards of memory came to him.

"_Please Harry, you're the only one! You're the Master-"_

"_Mate, I think she's gone round the twist. Hugo… well-"_

"_Maybe Ginny was right about you! Maybe you're just-"_

"_Hermione, this is bloody insane! Look what you're doing to yourself!"_

"_Harry please! PLEASE! I need this!"_

"_They're at peace, Hermione! As is…-Remember the tales 'bout the Stone?"_

"_Please Harry! Please! It can be done!... -But I need you!"_

"_You shouldn't! If you do-….. -a line that should never have been crossed!"_

"_Ready? Okay, ... Volo ... Ut Vita!.…Auctorita….. Nex Dominatus!_

Well, that was fucking useless!

The images in his head made absolutely no sense! Why were his memories all foggy?! Why did it hurt to stand, to sit, to simply think?! Despite how much he hated to do it, Harry reluctantly began to try and clear his mind of all thought and emotion. He hated feeling like a bloody robot, that Spock or whatever James was always going on about. Seconds, minutes; who knew how long passed as he sat and tried to make sense of what had happened and how he ended up here? Finally, he'd forced the anger, the confusion, and the guilt- Why guilt?- back down, and yet he still didn't have an answer. Well, there was only one thing for it… with a flick of his hand, he summoned over his tattered robes and put them back under his head. He'd long since learned the proper response to these kinds of situations long ago. And with that, he turned over slightly and fell back asleep.

* * *

"Kid? Hey! Wake Up!"

"Go away!" Harry grumbled, angrily turning over, and wafting in the smell of burnt cloth and grass. Why did these bloody kids have to be so bloody annoying! Couldn't they just allow a man to sleep in peace!

"Are you all right?!" Asked a young-sounding… voice right into his ear. Bastard.

"Yes! Now stop shouting! I'm trying to sleep!" Harry snarled, not giving the person the satisfaction of actually waking him up. But the boy- he was pretty sure it was a young boy, he was acting just like Al on Christmas morning- just kept poking him. "All right, I'm up!" He snarled, finally losing his patience and furiously sitting up.

It was a young boy -just as he suspected- with shaggy blond hair, darkish eyes, and a worried expression on his face. "Are you okay?" He asked timidly. Probably started by his reaction.

"Yes. Yes, I am," Harry replied curtly, trying once again to clear his mind of emotion and keep his anger in check. "What can I do for you?" He asked in a voice of forced calm. Must not punch annoying brat. Must not punch annoying brat…

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right!" The boy snapped defensively. "You look kinda like my brother, after he gets home from work, and I wouldn't leave him-" Oh, he thought Harry was his own age. Well, from his current appearance, it was probably an easy mistake to make. But his rant about recklessness quickly wore on his nerves and lost any favor he might have curried with his concern. He didn't need a lecture from him; he had Hermione for that.

And speaking of which- he absentmindedly glanced at the now darkening sky as he purposefully ignored the now-screaming child- he was already in for the lecture of lectures. Whether he went back to his flat, his office at Hogwarts, or the Leaky Cauldron, she'd find him. She had a certain sense. Almost… seer-like- no, he was in for enough of a lecture as is! And his chewing-out party would be even longer. Especially seeing as he'd need her help to put him right again.

Well, seeing as his headache had abated and he felt much better after a long rest, he might as well get this over with. Better than listening to this loud-mouthed brat, anyway. He carefully pulled his wand and whispered, "Obliviate!" He watched the boys face slacken as he erased the memory of their encounter. Problem solved He quickly stowed the wand, and before the boy had a chance to recover, he Apparated away with barely a crack of the air indicating his departure.

The crack shook the boy out of his stupor, and, forgetting why he came all the way out here, he turned around and went to wander back home. Surely it must be close to supper! And, as the groaning of his stomach indicated, he was really hungry. Hopefully his mum had finished making the Stew. Mhm, Stew. So off he went, without ever realizing anything was amiss. And it would forever stay that way.

* * *

With yet another crack, Harry touched down in Diagon Alley. With a quiet groan, he staggered upright, using the wall for support. He'd forgotten how stupid it was to attempt apparition in a condition similar to his own. Thank Merlin he hadn't gotten splinched. But it surely was a close thing. Hopefully, Hermione would never know, because that would be another ten minutes added to her lecture. He was already expecting… an hour or so of ranting from her? Especially after what happened to Ron that one time during the Hor-

He stopped cold as he glanced in through the window. This wasn't Weasley's Wizard Wheezes! And… he quickly paced to the front of the shop, temporarily forgetting the consequences of being seen in his condition… why wasn't it WWW? He hadn't made a mistake in where he'd Apparated! Granted, it was for sure a possibility… But…no! This was… yes, this was their address! As it had been for the last few decades. But no… this was the address, and the Twin's shop was not here. In its place was simply a run-down old bar, looking like a place the Ministry Health Inspectors would soon flock to. Which begged the question… how long was he out?

After all, the only way this store would have ever disappeared was if he'd been unconscious for so long that the entire family line had died off. And every other wizard on the planet as well, because there would have at least been a memorial- everybody in the Wizarding World knew about the Weasley twins and their famous store. So… what the buggering hell was going on!?

Well, there was only one way to find out! He turned his head and saw that Flourish and Blotts was still open. Thank Merlin! He rushed over to the bookstore, intent on seeing if he could purchase one of the shop's copies of the Prophet. If only to see the news- or at very least if it wasn't helpful- the date. He was in such a rush that he never noticed the big emblazoned signs on the front promising a 25% discount on any and all books detailing the miraculous life of the Girl-Who-Lived.

"Excuse me, sir. How much for a copy of the Prophet?" Harry asked hurriedly, internally wincing at how young-sounding his voice had become all of a sudden. He was reminded how much he'd learned to hate the screams and screeches of little kids over the years. Not that the clerk on duty noticed. The bored gentlemen manning the counter bent behind it and handed him a copy.

"Ten Sickles, please?" He grunted. Harry was not willing to keep him waiting for his money, and possibly attract any attention, so he quickly reached into his pocket and tossed him a galleon before he flipped the paper over.

At the bottom… there was no date. Why was their no date there? It was a Ministry requirement, simply to help with the disposal of the always towering pile of used copies of the day's paper. Putting it at the top and bottom made figuring out which editions were trash that much simpler. Shrugging, as he had more pressing concerns, he flipped it over to look at the cover. Once he saw the headline, he dropped it to the floor, his eyes wide. _Girl-Who-Lived Spotted In Diagon Alley_.

…Spotted In Diagon Alley.

Girl-Who-Lived.

Beneath the caption was the picture of a frightened girl being beckoned along by the gigantic form of Hagrid. Who grunted angrily at the gawking passersby around them. Not that Harry registered that as his eyes remained glued to the title.

Girl-Who-Lived.

Suddenly, and unconsciously, Harry realized that his problems were much more serious than WWW's disappearance or his apparent de-aging.

Girl. Who. Lived.

What?


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hello again. It's been a while since I updated anything, so I decided to post my unbetaed update for this story. "Be cruel! Be brutal!" Props if you know from what I'm quoting. Anyway, I have several updates near ready for publication, so I'd say by the end of May, I should be in a much better place. But I thought this needed to be posted now, just so I can keep writing momentum going. Thank you all for your continued patience while I sort out matters on the home front. Anyway, I don't own Harry Potter, and I hope you all enjoy this update.

Chapter One: The Girl Who Lived?

_Girl. Who. Lived._

What?

What!?

WHAT!?

He stared at the picture again, watching Hagrid ferry the girl through the crowd of curious onlookers. Who?... What? …Huh?... He shook his head and his eyes flicked down, where he read the caption, "_Young Susan Bones was spotted this afternoon in the Alley in the company of Hogwarts groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid. As everyone knows, she is famous for the defeat of the Dark Lord-_"

Well….

What?

He absentmindedly pulled his wand and flicked it. Everything- the bookstore, the wary-looking clerk, the slight bustle of passersby in the Alley- remained as it had been. Another flick. No change. Once more…Okay, maybe this wasn't an illusion. Not even one of those special Mayan illusions of which Kingsley had been so fond. Maybe… Or maybe it was more complex than that? Possibly…Mind-altering potions? He flicked his wand to perform a diagnostic charm. It turned up nothing. So of course he flicked it again to perform another, more comprehensive charm. Still nothing. Another flick, another complicated diagnostic charm. Oh what the buggering… STILL NOTHING!

Perhaps he was getting a tad frustrated. It was understandable, really. Really. Here he was in…well, it seemed to be Diagon Alley, with something resembling reality and yet presenting him such a warped outlook of the world! _Girl-Who-Lived!_ Simply ridiculous; the very essence of nonsense. But… hey, wait a second.

He dropped the newspaper back on the counter, and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed as he began concentrating… feeling… nothing. He opened his eyes in resignation. It wasn't an illusion. If it was, he would have felt the tendrils. If you knew what to look for, you could easily detect the faint traces. But his senses weren't magically bound, which was the only way he knew of to make apparition possible in an illusion, and his senses were adhering to Letrot's Law, as far as he knew, so…

So…

So…

What? So where did that leave him? This wasn't an illusion. Clearly. Or, if it was, than it was too complex to simply overpower. Though that would have at least been workable. But on the other hand… he glanced again at the date- he'd forgotten about that-… August 2, 1991… -it wasn't as surprising as it should have been. After all, it wasn't like he hadn't ever traveled in time. Hermione, back in his 3rd year, or with Amos against Rostaslov, or with- the point was that time travel was something normal, or at least possible, for wizards. Aceepted. Once you'd gone back a few hours, it wasn't the shocker it had been. The problem… he frowned slightly as he read the caption again… The Girl Who Lived. What a knotty predicament that presented. Because… well… it was just…

Not possible. Well, it was magic… no, not possible. The problem was that a great deal of the magic that could have been used against him to achieve this only grew stronger if he was willing to believe, if only slightly, that it might be possible. Even the least amount of subconscious acceptance would make defeating such an illusion a nigh impossible task. He'd fallen into that trap once before, and he did not want to repeat that experience.

Okay… not an illusion, and not a mind altering potion. Could it just be a simple hallucination? Could it… wouldn't it have shown up during his diagnosis? Probably, but an illusion could have- but this wasn't an illusion, so…

So…

So…

So…

So he really had no idea. It was that simple. It annoyed him, but then again, sometimes magic just couldn't be understood. He was pretty sure there was nothing wrong with him by this point. And yet… and yet- _The Girl Who Lived_. 1991. Diagon Alley without the Twin's shop.

Well, he might have been fine- fit as a fiddle, as it were- but something was definitely wrong. It wasn't… it didn't seem to be an illusion. He could feel the creamy texture of the day's edition of the Prophet, smell the dust lingering in the bookshop, especially around the cashier's register, hear the dying murmurs of the crowd as the business day came to a close. It seemed to be… well, real. Or to be more precise, he hadn't turned up anything that would prove what he was seeing was fake; a crafted image. No, there were no fracture points, no sensory overlays, no temporal markings, which meant his eyes and ears and such weren't deceiving him. Or at least, nothing was working to deceive them; it could be inactive magic that… he very much doubted it. Which meant that this was… this was…

Real. This was… real? Could it even be real? How in Merlin's name could this be… perhaps it was time to get past that. Maybe it wasn't even the right question anymore. Forget the what, perhaps it was time to focus on the how. About time he popped over to the apothecary and picked up a memory potion or two. That idea seemed a lot better than his original idea of standing here, by a bored looking clerk, debating reality, until he finally eventually went mad!

Incensed, Harry grabbed the paper- he had paid for it, after all- and left the shop, walking quickly towards the Apothecary. The one that had gone out of business thirty-five years ago. Except that there, emblazoned on a banner for the Alley's inhabitants to see, was a banner reading _Slug & Jiggers_. But if this was real, and it was also really 1991 then it made sense that…

"What can I do for you, sir?" The clerk asked, making every effort to be polite. Too polite. But then again, it would have been the busy season for potions supplies- if it really was August of 1991-, so the man at the counter really couldn't afford to alienate anyone.

"A Memory potion, please?' Harry requested, slapping a galleon on the counter. The clerk stared at him in response. Harry sighed; of course, he looked like a little kid, and why would a little kid need a memory potion? "For my mother," He lied, almost begrudgingly. He also added a bit of a whine to his voice; he wanted this done quickly.

A nod, and a vial of bluish looking concoction- the Jobberknoll must have been pretty young- was passed across the counter. Memory potions weren't regulated per se, but they could be easily abused, especially if the user was a student, and it was common for Apothecaries to keep these kinds of potions behind the counter. But the clerk was either a moron, or… a memory-potion addict would have been good for business. He had no idea which possibility was more frightening. Gratefully, Harry took the potion, his change, and the paper he was still carrying around, Merlin knew why, and walked out of the shop, intent on getting a meal at the Cauldron. Memory Potions always went down easier after a full meal, in his experience. Well, after a meal and a good-night's rest. Sleep; yeah, that would be good too. It wasn't like he didn't have all the time in the world to catch up on his rest, wherever he was now.

* * *

"_Please Harry, you're the only one! You're the Master-"_

"_Mate, I think she's gone round the twist. Hugo… well, I can't-"_

"_Maybe Ginny was right about you! Maybe you're just-"_

"_Hermione, this is bloody insane! Look what you're doing to yourself! Would he-"_

"_Harry please! PLEASE! I need this! You don't understand!"_

"_They're at peace, Hermione! As is…-Remember the tales 'bout the Stone?"_

"_Please Harry! Please! It can be done!... -But I need you!"_

"_You shouldn't! If you do-….. -a line that should never have been crossed!"_

"_Ready? Okay, ... Volo ... Ut Vita!.…Auctorita….. Nex Dominatus!_

Harry sprang up from the bed, his eyes wide, and his breathing heavy. "Oh." He glanced around the room he had rented from Tom the night before after he'd finished his meal. The golden rays of sun slipping in just past the lowered blinds and the lively sounds of typical London morning traffic reminded him just where he was.

"Oh," He repeated dully, the rediscovered missing pieces having a rather sobering effect on him. He glanced around once more, drinking in the appearance of the room around him, before slumping back onto his bed. Idly, almost unaware that he was doing it, he reached for his wand which he had deposited on his bedside table and gave it a flick. It was a wild idea, one that probably wouldn't work, but it was the best idea he could come up with. But considering how he might have gotten into this mess, and how some magics transcended time and space… well, did he really have anything to lose at this point? Instantly, a holographic image of a middle-aged man sitting slumped over in a chair, his face stricken with tears, came into view. Harry nearly dropped his wand; he honestly didn't expect his half-arsed idea to work.

"Hello, Ted."

Teddy Lupin rocketed up from his chair, looking around wildly. "Ha-Harry?" He asked tentatively to thin air.

"The Holograph charm, Ted. Use it please?"

He quickly reached for his wand and waved it while incanting, "_Aspectus Alienus_." He gasped, probably because a vision of Harry, in kid form, lying on his bed in the Cauldron, came into view. "Harry?"

"Yep, it's me, Ted."

He stared at him for several long moments. "I thought you were dead," He admitted finally, his tone betraying just how exhausted he was. The huge bags under his eyes, however…

Harry sighed. "I'm guessing Ron and Hermione's bodies have been discovered, then?"

Ted ran his hand through his sun-bleached hair. Tears were pouring down his face. "Harry. What happened?"

"You were right Ted. The ritual was a bad idea," Harry replied, choosing that to be an acceptable answer.

"Damn it Harry! I told you there are some things you just shouldn't touch! Why did you have to play with… play with…?" His rage gave way to regret as tears began streaming down his face once more.

"Because she asked, Ted. And knowing her pain, and my part in it, could I say no?" Harry replied quietly.

"It wasn't your fault Harry!" Ted replied vehemently. "You have to stop blaming yourself! Look what it's gotten you. Now they're," His voice broke slightly, "D-dead, and you're, you're…" He paused, staring at the holograph. "Harry, honestly, where are you?"

"Somewhere, Ted. Perhaps a place where I atone for my sins and the cold hand of death waits for mine." He sighed, and forced a smile onto his face. "I regret helping her more than you can imagine Ted. I knew it was a bad idea from the start. So did Ron. But…" His voice broke. His choked back a sob, and forced a fake smile onto his face again, "If I could have helped, if he could have been…" He closed his mouth again. "I'm sorry. Truly. But in my heart, I know that I probably would have made this mistake no matter what." Ted stared at his, his gaze seemingly boring into Harry's very soul.

"I understand," He muttered quietly, finally looking away. "Do you know-"

"Like I said: this could very well be forced atonement of a sort. We messed with the rules of the universe, Ted." He held up a hand, "You could very well argue that my intentions were noble, Ted, but that doesn't change what happened or that I've ended up someplace… different. Other than that tidbit, I have no idea where I am. Except that wherever I am, there's also a Girl-Who Lived," Harry answered, tears quietly streaming down his face as he imagined Ron and Hermione's aged, lifeless bodies. He was suddenly struck by the image of Ron and Hermione arguing in the afterlife. "You couldn't bloody well leave it alone! Just like that time with Snape, and with…" and Hermione shouting back, "Well Ronald, I had to do something! I simply couldn't-!" He couldn't help it; he laughed quietly. The image of his best friends bickering for all eternity amused him for some reason. Merlin must have had no idea what he was getting into. He sobered; maybe if he'd listened to Ted, maybe if he'd stood firm, then…

"A- a Girl-Who-Lived?" Teddy squeaked. He shook his head and took a moment to compose himself. "Harry? What. Did. You. Do?"

"The ritual. Everything, exactly as she laid it out. On site, too. Correct timing. With the Hallows convened. Everything perfect; everything aligned. Just as we told you. And the rest of the family." He sighed. "And now, they're…" He used his Occlumency training to push away the emotion, "Dead, and I ended up here, wherever 'here' is. Discerning my true location is a task I have seemingly proved incapable of achieving."

"Merlin, Harry! Trust me, you're not anywhere on planet Earth!" Teddy squeaked. "We checked. Multiple times."

"Considering there's a Girl-Who-Lived, and its 1991, I'm pretty sure I'm…" He trailed off, waiting for his godson to voice the possibility that still seemed so ludicrous, even with hours of thought behind it.

"In a different dimension?" Ted's eyes were wide as he exclaimed the possibility. "Come off it, Harry. You know that's just a bloody myth! I remember the books and theories you showed me! How many former Headmasters played with the possibility!? Forty!? And they all failed!? Some of their deaths were even quiet violent; I remember chatting with the portrait of Alphard Wiesmart, and he…," He trailed off at the look his Godfather was giving him. "So you think you… How did you…?"

"No bloody clue, Ted. Only ideas. I mean, we used the Hallows, so-"

"But can their power be focused?"

"Some say yes, some say no. Hermione thought it could work, so she used the Mithril Amulet. Either way, they seemed to channel and focus pretty well, so-"

"But maybe their power wasn't properly directed. Plus, you are younger, and your theory doesn't touch on the de-aging question, right?"

"Funny you should mention that, because Hermione incorporated a de-aging aspect. It did seem dangerous, but… I'd rather have risked it than let him die in her arms a second time." Silence, followed that. "She thought if he was really returned to life, he would be returned with his wound, and all that spell damage, so-"

"What about the Hallows maybe because of your Mastery- stop laughing, Harry!"

"Ted, we both bloody know that "Master of Death" is just an empty title!"

"And yet there you are, alive in another dimension!"

Harry sobered, Ted's comment slapping him in the face. "Point taken. Though I'm still not quite sure I'm really ready to believe it yet."

"Hey, didn't Hermione use some of the dimensional theories in the Headmaster's library, the ones by Humbright about Soul Recognition?"

"Yeah. She figured part of him needed to be transferred from dimensions far away, and that those pieces combined could bring him back, or at least his soul in essence, as long as they were properly focused by the moon and the Hallows and…" That was his cue to launch into a long lecture about the deatils of the ritual Hermione had devised, how it was intended to function, and why Harry suspected it had failed.

"Oh." He sat there silently, just drinking everything in, once his Godfather finished his lengthy explanation. "So… another dimension?"

"Another dimension. Considering this is a project magical scholars have devoted hundreds of thousands of hours towards over the centuries, it should feel pretty amazing. Somehow it just doesn't," Harry admitted dryly.

Teddy was silent, not knowing how to respond. Finally, he decided a topic change was in order. "The funeral service had a huge turnout. Even Rose came," He tried to keep his voice neutral and failed. "They added a part for you, even though your body hadn't turned up."

"So everyone thinks I'm dead?"

"Yep. Thought I said as much at the start of this. There were absolutely no signs that you had survived. The Ministry is even talking about pushing through another comprehensive ban on ritualistic and experimental magic, because of this tragedy. And…well," He suddenly looked uncomfortable, "The Goblins unsealed your will. Your kids were pretty satisfied but Ginny-," The rest of his sentence was cut off by Harry's groan.

"Well, that's bloody great," He groaned. He stared at the ceiling, thinking over what he'd just been told. "That Ministry ban would've been even better if they could have stopped Hermione."

"Yeah." There was a long period of silence, as both sat, lost in their own thoughts. "So what are you going to do now? Should I contact anyone?"

"No, you're the only one I could contact because of the adoption ceremony," Harry answered. Ted stared at him. "Yeah, who would have thought the bonds between father and son would've stretch across dimensions. I only tried it because I was desperate. But anyway, let them think I'm dead for now; it'll be better that way. Makes my eventual return all the more dramatic." His godson shot him a glare for his ill-timed humor attempt. Though he quietly let the point drop, knowing the reasons his Godfather would have wanted to keep his cards kept close to his vest. "As for me… I don't know. The only thing I know is that I need a way home."

Ted snorted, though there was a hint of sadness in his tone. "Good luck with that, Harry. Dimensional travel sounds like a strictly one-way trip."

"Or does it?" Harry asked. He glanced at Teddy, almost as if debating whether to continue. "If I found the doorway once, I can find it again. Maybe… And… And...!" He sat up in his bed. "The Hallows. If I collect them here, then," Well maybe if he had a pensieve, but still, "I could recreate the ritual and return!"

Teddy wasn't nearly as enthused with the possibility. "Harry, collecting the Hallows isn't as easy as you think. How many wizards died trying the very same thing? Wizards just as clever and powerful, some even more so than you, failed. I really don't think…"

But a manic gleam had entered Harry's eye. "Yes, but I know where they are, Ted. The Stone should be in the Gaunt hovel, attached to Voldemort's horcrux. The Wand, in Dumbledore's possession. The Cloak…" Well, he drew a blank there. If he didn't have it, who did? Maybe the "Girl-Who-Lived?" He really wasn't fond of the idea of swiping the cloak from her. But he put that aside for the moment. "And if I can sneak into Hogwarts, I can use those resources-"

"Harry, how can you use simple library resources to recreate a dimensional doorway?" Ted asked slowly. "Because I doubt you will have the liberty to look over the Headmaster's collection at your leisure." He paused. "And how do you even know those Hallows will be in the same place? I hate to say it, but this idea sounds pretty cooked."

Harry snorted. "Ted, how could they have been moved? Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in 1945, and Voldemort killed his family and framed his uncle while taking the ring. What possible difference could there be here?"

"Harry, if there's a Girl Who Lived, what else could have changed?" Ted countered. "I get it- you want to get back. I really want you back. But this sounds too reckless, too spontaneous, too… well… too like my father, really," He admitted sadly.

A pained look came over Harry's face. "Sorry. I understand, Teddy. I really do. But I need a way home. I want to see James's smiling face, the scowl to smile transfiguration Albus pulls off so well, Lily's flowing hair and tear-stricken face. Even Ginny…" Well, maybe not his ex-wife. Then again…, "I want to see them. I want to see you. I… I just want to go home. And it looks like I have a way right in front of me." He sobered, staring at the wall. "But I could be wrong. I've been catastrophically along already, haven't I?" He asked, more to the room than to his Godson. "But I have to try."

"I know." Ted took a deep breath. "But when have things ever been that simple for you, Harry?" And Harry really had no good answer to that question. Even so, it didn't wipe his sudden look of determination off his face. "Look, just do what you're going to do. I hope it all works out for you." He sighed. "And maybe… just maybe, I'll see you soon."

"Set a place for me at the table, Teddy, 'cause I'll be back before you know it," Harry told him with a grin, sounding a lot more confident that he felt. His godson groaned. "Anyway, I have to go- Hallows to collect and all that."

Teddy sighed, wishing he could say more to dissuade his Godfather from his sudden quest, but was unable to find the words. "Later, Harry. Hopefully, I'll see you soon." Privately, he had his doubts.

* * *

A sudden crack on a deserted road in northern England was the only indicator that one of the most powerful sorcerers of all time- albeit from another dimension- had touched down. Scowling slightly- he still hated bloody Apparition!- he steadied himself quickly, and set off walking down the road. He lowered his eyes from the glowing golden orb steadily rising in the sky, searching for the Gaunt hovel. It would have been far better if it was raining; less people out, and more cover. But he didn't have the luxury. Teddy's words hit far too close to home; things could be really different here. But this was a way to test it; if things didn't go pear-shaped, then he'd feel a bit more comfortable about the rest of his odyssey. And if they did… it was better to find out sooner and later just where things had gone wrong. Aside from the obvious, of course.

He walked off to the side of the road, to better scan his surroundings, and to keep out of the sight of any curious muggles. He didn't want any evidence leading back. After all, a boy who'd suddenly… appeared in the world, being seen heading towards Voldemort's ancestral home, would raise eyebrows. From people whose attention- if they were even here, alive, in this dimension- he couldn't afford. But then again, a part of him would really have been grateful for another conversation with Dumbledore… enough of that! He had more important things to attend to.

Now then…where the hell was that bloody house? Why couldn't it just be easy to find? Though he silently had to chuckle to himself, thinking that Voldemort would keep the place where he housed a seventh of his soul visible to the naked eye.

The road was paved, though it seemed to be falling apart, and from where he was standing, the faint outline of the Riddle House- where Tom Riddle's father and grandparents had lived and died- was visible on a far off hill towering over the village. It was getting to be an uncomfortably warm day, and with every step he took off to the side of the road, he seemed to kick up more and more dust. Pretty soon he was going to need to use the Bubblehead Charm.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and began concentrating, desperately trying to pick up any magical traces. He paused, and his eyes fluttered open as he stared at a spot a few hundred meters away, surrounded by brown grass and dead shrubbery. That spot felt… unusual. And there was definitely… something going on. But… it didn't feel quite like Voldemort. It just… not to say he could remember so well how the man had operated, but… it's just, if that was all that was defending the hovel, then how didn't Dumbledore track it down sooner?

He slowly approached, constantly casting diagnostic charms to try and tell if he was about to walk right into a trap. Nothing. He had no idea how long he feverishly cast and recast diagnostic charms, trying to detect any threats embedded in the wards. Finally, he stood at what should have been the entrance to the hovel, warily pointing his wand where the door should be. So, since the outer perimeter held nothing lethal, what defenses had he…?

Harry stepped back a dozen paces and began waving his wand while muttering under his breath. It was exhausting work, using that much magic in such a short time on such a hot and humid day, but Harry finally lowered it, satisfied. Nodding at the results, he once again raised his wand and began drawing flaming runic symbols on the ground.

After he finished drawing his series of ten, and making sure the runes overlapped, he pushed his magic out, similar to how one performed Legilimency, but on a body-wide scale, channeling it in to his rune set. Feeling even more exhausted- couldn't he just drop to the ground and catch a few winks?-, Harry whispered, "_Flagro Flagello_." From the tip of his wand issued a crimson red ray of fire, magically bound. Knowing this was the hardest part, Harry whispered, "_Magicus Ablego Magicus_," while cracking the whip right at where he discerned one of the focal points of the ward scheme would be.

He canceled the whip as quickly as he could, but the resulting explosion caused by the manual activation of the wards and the beginnings of the transfer of energy from them to his rune scheme still sent him rocketing backwards onto the ground. "Shite!" He cried out, knowing no one was around to hear it, as the connection caused by the brief touch of the absorbing rune scheme to the wards continued to eat away at Voldemort's protections. He gingerly rose to his feet, watching the dancing blue lights, the signal of the cascading failure of the wards. Good thing that technique had been invented twenty years after Voldemort's fall, otherwise Harry had no idea how the hell he could get through the blasted protections. Even if they weren't Voldemort's expected standard, they were still pretty difficult to circumvent.

The last of the hovel's outer defenses finally failed as Harry applied numbing charms to his back and shoulders. After this, a nice hot bath seemed perfectly in order. Performing another diagnostic, and satisfied that the first line of defenses had been totally eliminated, Harry strode forward to the door.

"_You're not welcome here_." Harry blinked before realizing the speaker was the dead snake. This was one of the few times where he was thankful that he could still speak Parseltongue.

"_Sure I am_," Harry replied neutrally. "_I come at the behest of Lord Voldemort to retrieve his artifact. It is currently in danger. How else do you think I could have breached these wards, if not for him telling me of them? For he is the greatest and mightiest sorcerer of them all!_"

He felt something try to invade his mind, a hidden Legilemic Attack trying to ascertain his intentions. He quickly created a series of memories involving himself receiving the Dark Mark and bowing before Lord Voldemort before letting the ward enter into those areas. As it continued to search, he crafted memories detailing Lord Voldemort assigning him to retrieve the Ring, fearing Dumbledore had discerned its location.

"_You may pass_," The snake declared after a few moments, before it returned to its originally lifeless state. Harry quickly eradicated those memories and checked the perimeter once more before deciding to chance it.

He entered the hovel, casting and re-casting the diagnostic charm with every small step he took. He drank in the ruined appearance of the hovel, the strewn dishes and dusty counters, but... something was wrong. This was way too easy. Even factoring the Ring's probable attempt to possess him or compel him to put it on. It should have been outer, middle- with a definite attempt on his life- and inner- the sanctum containing the Ring. That was how he remembered Voldemort operating. Maybe Teddy was inadvertently right, and this Tom Riddle _was_ different.

He slowly made his way towards a ruined door, from which traces of dark magic were emanating. Slowly, he pushed open the door, wand at the ready in case Voldemort had a swarm of Inferi to take out the intruder, and… nothing. He stared into the room, noting the opened box, which he suspected contained the Ring. He strode forward, still casting diagnostic charms, to inspect its contents.

He froze, when instead of the expected Ring, there was instead a note. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good. Examining the paper for traps, he reached out a trembling hand and picked it up, almost afraid of what he might find. The Letter, with its flowing, cursive writing, did not disappoint his expectations.

_To My Former Partner,_

_Before you incinerate this note, please be aware that I that have discovered your treachery, Thomas. Your deception was not appreciated. However, as it has now been rectified, and I have received the appropriate compensation, I can happily terminate our business relationship. Good riddance._

_As I told you a long time ago, this Ring was so much more than an artifact of Salazar Slytherin. It is a relic from the Peverells, capable of bringing back- if only in spirit form- life itself. You did not listen. You also did not disclose the fact that this priceless treasure had come into you possession. Finally, to compound those grave errors of judgment, you also decided to use this priceless artifact as a container for a fragment of your own pathetic soul. Tsk, Tsk, Thomas. How unfortunate._

_I sincerely doubt that you've continued reading, and by this point, this letter is most likely dust. However, on the off chance that I am wrong, -what a slim possibility that is- I would like to congratulate you for finding a way to cheat death. It is not nearly as impressive as the solution I found, but it is a crude stopgap for death, and that is to be appreciated. As is the fact that by the time you recover this, I will have regrouped my forces and regained dominion over all of Europe. Hopefully, you will appreciate your part in making this all possible. I truly could not have achieved this without your aid, Thomas. You were a useful tool._

_Warmest Regards,  
Gellert Grindelwald _


End file.
